We’ve all been there. We’re standing in line at the grocery store or the pharmacy with a baby squirming in our arms and a toddler pulling at our pants when the person in line next to us (usually an older woman, but not always) looks over the scene of barely-controlled chaos before saying something along the lines of “Enjoy every minute. It goes by so quickly.”

I ‘ve heard some version of that little ditty more times than I can count. I usually respond with a weary smile, but what I really want to say is, “Really? REALLY? I’m exhausted, my four year’s old diet currently consists of boxed macaroni and cheese and blueberries, my two year old pooped in the tub again last night, they’ve both been tantruming like it’s going out of style, I can barely find my bed under the laundry, my husband is traveling again this week, and I am completely behind on all of my work deadlines, but thanks, yes, I’ll go right ahead and enjoy every minute.”

Perhaps a more mindful mother would be able to find the beauty in each moment of life (except the poop in the tub. There is nothing beautiful about poops in the tub). But the Dalai Mama I’m not, and statements about enjoying every minute with my children just leaving me feeling as though I’m doing something wrong because the truth is that there are far too many minutes when it’s all I can do to stay present, take a deep breath, and not lose it completely. And sometimes I can’t even do that.

Yesterday afternoon I made banana bread with my four year old daughter. To be honest, I’m not much of a cook and she’s not particularly interested in food preparation either, but we had a great time anyway. I didn’t snap, she didn’t whine, and neither of us threw a tantrum. After it was all over, I took some time to reflect on why it had worked out so well. I realized that it had nothing to do with what we were doing; I think we could have had just as much fun reading books or playing with blocks or baby dolls. The key was that for that hour, I gave her my undivided attention as we worked on a project together.

In all honesty, this is not a regular occurrence in our house. Even though I am alone with my daughters for several hours each afternoon, I’m usually trying to get dinner ready, giving them a bath or putting them to bed. While we may be doing these activities together, I’m either multi-tasking or  trying to teach them how to behave at the table or generally making them do something they would rather not do, like brush their teeth. Some days are more pleasant than others, but I wouldn’t usually call it fun.

It has been a tough week, and I am exhausted. I live just outside of Boston, and the bombing on Monday shook me to my core. I’ve cried every day this week. I’ve cried for the three people who died (including a young boy), I’ve cried for the hundreds who were injured, and I’ve cried for the individuals who will never be able to erase the sights, sounds, and smells of that terrible incident from their memories.

And I’ve cried for myself, for the fear that has overwhelmed me since I first heard the news of what happened, in the middle of a lovely afternoon at the park. The sun was out, the weather had finally warmed up, and the girls and I were having a great time. And then another mother told us that two bombs had gone off at the finish line.

I haven’t been able to find my footing since then. I was sitting in meditation this morning, and every time I closed my eyes, I felt as though I was going to fall over. I finished my meditation with my eyes open.

My daughters, just two and four, have no idea what happened, and I have no intention of telling them. I’d love to tell you that even as my mind and heart are reeling, life at home has gone on as usual. But it’s not true. I’ve been feeling anxious and scared. Not unlike when my daughters feel similarly, I have been a bit crispier, a bit more fragile, a bit more likely to crumble around the edges. When that happens, I lose my patience, and I snap at the girls.

That is the painful irony of, course. I take out my stress on the people most important to me, the ones I am most terrified of losing when something like this happens.

The reality is that just as I will never be the same person that I was before 9/11, I will never be the same parent that I was before the marathon was bombed. More than ever, I am inspired to find …

Jizo Necklace. jizoandchibi.com

3 Things for Mom is one of my new favorite Mommy blogs. (Sorry, Dads, but this one does seem geared towards the maternal crew.) Each post features a truth, a tip, and a find by different writers, and many of them are truly inspirational. In honor of this great new blog, I thought I’d offer a Mindful Parenting version with a truth, a tip, and a find, about kindness and parenting.

Truth

“The way we talk to ourselves influences the way we parent. So often we don’t understand what our child is expressing because we’re caught up in our own thoughts or feelings . . . We see how we generate much of our own suffering through what we tell ourselves or through our desire to have things be different from how they are now . . . May we pay attention with kindness to what is happening within us and within our children.”- Denise Roy, MOMfulness: Mothering with Mindfulness, Compassion, and Grace

My older daughter (age 4) and I have been talking about my meditation practice lately. She knows where my meditation cushion is, and she understands that I use it to sit and pay attention to my breathing. She also knows that meditating helps me stay calmer, happier, and less likely to get frustrated and snap at her and her sister. I’m happy to talk to her about it, but to be honest, I wasn’t really expecting her to meditate yet. Then I did a Google Images search for “child meditating” and came across a range of amazing pictures of children sitting “criss-cross applesauce” (as my daughter would call it) with their eyes closed. They’re pretty incredible.

Needless to say, I was thrilled to find out that my daughter is also learning about these concepts from her daycare providers and preschool teachers. She came home the other day talking about a book in which a cow gets really mad and then learns to meditate from his grandfather. (I mentioned it on my Facebook page and got a great response!)

Our copy of “Moody Cow Meditates” by Kerry Lee Maclean arrived yesterday, and my daughters were excited to read it. It’s a lovely story, and was very age appropriate for my 4 year old. Some of the concepts may have been a bit advanced for my younger daughter (she’s not yet 3), but she seemed to enjoy it quite a bit anyway.

My four year old daughter has taken to dancing naked whenever the opportunity arises. She’s never been one to take off her clothes at random times (thank goodness for small favors!), but each morning and night, it’s go time. The minute she’s fully undressed, she starts wiggling and twisting, shaking her hips, throwing her arms in the air and sashaying across the room. Music or no music, it doesn’t matter. She’ll dance until she collapses on the floor in giggles.

It’s adorable and hilarious. It’s my daughter at her best: creative, funny, silly, completely comfortable in her own skin, and grateful for an audience.

I love being that audience. Most of the time. Far too often, though, I was focused on trying to wrangle my daughters into their pajamas or their clothes, pushing them through the transition so we could get on to the next step in our day. I was missing out on the good moments.

A few months ago, I wrote a post about deleting all of the apps from my iPhone in an effort to be more present with my children. I’m sure none of you will be surprised to learn that those apps are back.

Here’s what happened. In the first few days after I removed the apps, I became intensely aware of all of the ways in which I had been using my phone. I was unable to share pictures of my girls with their grandparents and great-grandparents, and I missed reading the status updates from friends and family members. I couldn’t check the news or the weather or any of the blogs I read regularly. As we only have one TV, and it’s rarely on during the day, and my computer is up in our office, I felt quite disconnected. I quickly found myself using the internet app (which I hadn’t removed) to access everything online, which was fine, but certainly less convenient.

And here’s the thing: deleting the apps on my iPhone didn’t fundamentally change my parenting style or the extent to which I am present with my children. What really mattered was whether or not I chose to engage my awareness, to truly be with my kids. The reality is that sometimes my girls need my presence and my connection, and sometimes they don’t. Sometimes I have it to give, and sometimes I don’t. And sometimes I just get it wrong.

Meghan Nathanson writes a beautiful blog about Mindful Mothering, and her writing about the challenges of parenting and the power of mindfulness inspires me on a regular basis. One of her recent posts, “10 Ways to be Mindful with Your Children Again” really resonated with me. I could see myself in every single one of her signs that you might not be present with your children, and I loved her suggestions for returning to mindfulness. Here is one of my favorites:

“Commit to responding to your children instead of reacting. Live in the pause between your children’s actions (“good” or “bad”) and what you say or do afterward. Allow this space to inform your response.There is great wisdom to be found in waiting.”

What are the red flags that let you know you’re not staying present with your children? What brings you back?

For more mindful parenting, follow us both on Facebook: Carla Naumburg and Meghan Nathanson.

“Mommy, sometimes I wish you only had one daughter so you could do all of your attention to me.”

My four year old daughter said this to me last week, while her younger sister was napping.

“I know, sweetie, but you love your sister, and who would you play with if you didn’t have a sister?”

“I would play with you and Daddy. All the time.”

“But you really love your sister, sweetie.”

“I only love you and Daddy.”

And with that, my daughter went back to gently tucking in her baby dolls, all in a line on the living room floor.

As I reflect back on this conversation, I realize that even though we were both right—my daughter does want more of my undivided attention AND she does love her sister and plays quite nicely with her—I missed an opportunity to practice mindful parenting.

My husband and I are both fairly heavy technology users (something I am actively struggling with, as you all know). We have smartphones, tablets, and computers, and we love thinking about and discussing the ways in which technology can make our lives better, and worse. Josh is aware of my interest in mindfulness, and he has asked me on more than one occasion what I would put into a mindful parenting app.

The truth is, I have no idea. Ok, actually, I have a lot of ideas, but I don’t think the technology is there yet. I would like an app that will cook dinner each night, potty train my toddler, remind my preschooler to turn on the water before she covers her hands with soap, and sense when I am about to lose it and remind me in a reasonably non-annoying voice to stop and take a deep breath (or twelve).

The reality is that there is no shortage of apps related to meditation, mindfulness, and happiness. Seeing as how I have been feeling stuck lately, my gut reaction is to download every single one in hopes of finding one that will help me navigate the tricky world of parenting in a mindful way. I love the idea that I could tap on a tiny square and all of a sudden the answers I need to all of my parenting questions will suddenly appear on my tiny screen. Should I put my insolent toddler in time out? Tap here! Should I buy my 4 year old the new Fancy Nancy book she has been obsessing over? Tap here!

Sigh. If only.